


Will the Circle Be Unbroken?

by CherryChimes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Monsoon, Past, Storm - Freeform, hymn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryChimes/pseuds/CherryChimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't always such a terrible monster.... in fact, when it counted, the Prince of Wohlstand, Nsarania Oroboros, could actually be a pretty decent guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will the Circle Be Unbroken?

It had been another quiet day in the Wohlstand manor. The monsoon outside tore relentlessly into the city below, whipping and howling into the still stone walls of the castle, sending frigid rain through the glassless windows into the corridors within. Many a servant had already been struck frozen with the endless pouring of the rain; it seemed as if it would never stop, and more and more people were beginning to show up in the sick room, sopping wet, drenched further than the bone in the deluge, sniffling and shaking like more than mere fragile leaves on dying trees, for nay, even those fragile leaves were not exalting freedom from their captor branches- for they were screaming for captivity on a bough that was supposedly safe, as the rain wore holes through the leaves, tearing them straight off the branches to be whipped away in the intense gale, as soon too, the branches of the trees would groan lowly, softly, at the strain the wind would put upon the tree, upon its aging boughs, would grow more intense, more egregious with each moment’s passing, until with a sudden loud scream and a crack, the wood would split in a great heave, the branch shorn away from its mother tree, to hang on by only tendons of flexible heartwood, clinging desperately for life until eventually those tendons too would snap, the branch careening sideways in the wind and solid rain to dash upon the rocks below, and too later, would the tree follow, bit by bit, the roots shifting in the ground, whining quietly against the strain as the soil clung to its woodland lover that it gave all nutrient and life to, the jealous wind relentless and cruel, and bleak, pulling and pulling at the old tree as it stole away the fragile leaves and the stern boughs, timidly pushing the other way before in an almost carnal manner shoving as hard as it could against the trunk once more, striving until it succeeded at tearing apart the two lovers, mother nature and father earth, in their hand hold of tree and dirt and grass, the dying throes of the tree registering painfully for miles around as it finally and slowly fell to the ground, tears of sap dripping upon the ground as it became visible for all watching that life slowly bled out of the tree through the collapsed heartstrings it left behind, the monsoon having stole away yet another soul in her harsh takeover of the alternian kingdom; that was how the servants shook, as if Death had visited, had pushed and pulled at them, begging the poor fellows sodden in their trousers to join Him, whispering sweet nothings and promises of peace in the ever-after, caressing with gentle touches and wisps of cold mortis, sending not chills of ecstasy, but of pure end intense horror and apprehension shivering up and down His would be victims spines, growing slowly bored by the hours as the fires within the sick bay, constantly stoked and fed, growing in her evanescent ethereal glow, not hesitating, never going out…. until He would grow angry and shout in great heaving huffs towards her light, until she would flicker and dim in His presence, not kindling her heart until He had given up His own pursuit and had returned to His lover the monsoon; even in this lovers quarrel had there been brought a modicum of peace in return, for the nobles had thrown apart their titles and accolades, lowering, as they would say, their regality, to sit upon the same floors as the peasants, as those servants, huddled together with the ‘filth’ beneath them in the stone floors, shivering under layers of thick wool blankets and shawls, sharing the same breaths, hands clasped together, trying fervently to warm digits starting to turn colors reminiscent of the rainbow between them, starting to turn blackened with dead skin, from the cold, pruned from the storm outside- for not even the nobility could boast that they were stronger than a storm such as this- none could, for there was simply no way, there was not a mortal alive that could weather such an intense storm, not even the bodyguards of the famous prince himself; except of course…. for perhaps one person.

The very prince himself seemed wholly unbothered by the horrific gales, and perhaps that was because all that was on his mind was concern for the denizens of his home currently suffering from the bone chilling winds mixed with the endless slates of water from above. In nothing but his normal doublet, the buckskin trousers he often wore, and the long emerald coat that he always kept dear, decorated with sweeps of military service, for his citizens needed the warmth more than he, would he be found with his many castle mates in the belly of the ‘fortress’, unmistakable with his sweeping ridged horns, though the rest of him would be hidden away, stuffed beneath wrinkled and yet neatly folded piles of cloaks and blankets, his fingernails digging into the wooly fabric in a futile attempt to keep the bundles upright. He was failing quickly though, the dark cursing under his breath imminent as he stumbled down the stairs into the cellar, letting out a cry of “Watch out!” as he felt his foot give at the last step, falling forwards. 

But the Prince was caught, stumbling to catch his feet as a rough long-fingered hand met his under the blankets, a light pressure against the back of his palm adding extra support as a henna-dyed hand rested over the top of the pile, holding it steady. Nsarania already felt himself grinning as his confidant and friend, the god-like adonis man and talented warrior, the quetzal lover known as Aztequet. The warrior snickered in return, lifting the hand on top of the pile off to push his hair and feathered braids out of his eyes, tilting his head to the side to smile back at the jade-blood prince.

“Damn near had an accident there, Mister Saintly Monarch.”

“Would not have been fun with these soaking hallow grounds if you were not always at assistance in the best of times, Teq. Many thanks to you for keeping not only my balance but the balance of safety of all those here by the preservations of those blankets and cloaks.”

“God you’re so formal it makes me sick. Yeah, sure thing Nas. Want me to help hand ‘em out with you too?”

“….Could you?” The Prince gave the aztecan a rather pathetic look, a sheepish smile on his clean-shaven face.

“You’re so fucking full of shit; of course I’ll help you dumbass. Careful, there’s a lip here, and a bunch of water from the last time someone opened the door. Don’t go falling and fucking up again. Alright…. there you go, much better, now we can see that puppy-stare that everyone finds themselves entranced with by some godawful reason that is obviously untrue you cynical bastard.”

The sarcastic glint in the Prince’s eyes betrayed his amusement as his friend took off half of the pile for him- it was odd seeing Aztequet dressed warmly in such parkas and such himself- usually the warrior preferred to wander around with only the straps of his weapons covering his chest, or his hair and the woven braids of feathers; if he wore any shirt or covering whatsoever. But he too looked uncomforted by the weather, tapping his foot idly upon the floor, as he awaited an answer.

“Ah but Teq, you wound me. So grievously so. After all I’ve done for you, our years of service together in the war, those clandestine nights as long lost lovers under full moons…. The love stricken glances from war—“

He got cut off by the glaring warrior flipping him the bird, prompting him to grin in earnest and let out a chuckle.

“Just shut up Prince and do your job.”

“Aye aye, featherbrain.”

“….I will slaughter you.”

“Mhm.”

The aztecan probably really did look ready to tear the Prince’s head from his shoulders- but Nsarania could not bring himself to care, if he were honest. This fellow…. it was just. Funny, he supposed, how his friend reacted to his antics, always firing up and getting mad, though deep down he could feel that his fellow’s smile was hidden just beneath the façade of this antisocial narcissism. The smile on his face did not fade as Nsarania would run his hand along his own jaw, chuckling softly, before he would come to the sudden realization upon feeling the faint roughness of stubble along his jawline that perhaps he wasn’t so clean-shaven as he’d thought. Maybe…. he’d let it grow, this time. He was a ruler right? Rulers needed to be mature- not young men who didn’t know a thing about the world. Maybe the facial hair, however it grew, would make him look mature, older. And if he didn’t like it, well, he could always just shave it away.

He watched idly as his advisor rolled his eyes and gave him a look that promised if he wasn’t flipping him off physically or saying ‘fuck off’, he was surely doing and saying so mentally. Nsarania rolled his own eyes at that, before stretching his back, stepping down the final few stairs (a good deal more carefully than before) to walk across the large cellar of the castle. Now… who was bereft of warmth out here…? The children most certainly. He could see each and every one of them- well, the ones he could see- trembling and cold, damp, huddled desperately by the few fires about to glean the waning warmth from them. They cowered in intimidation when the jade-blood approached, kneeling down to the slightest bit of crepitus, but looked at him with big wondering eyes as he let out a soft chuckle, ruffling each of the little ragamuffins’ hair, draping with his free hand one of the warm wool cloaks over each of their shoulders. He could only smile still, when they immediately huddled into the blankets with surprised peeps, their bodies disappearing into the thick fabric; it only worried him that he could still see the little piles shivering, and he hoped that it would stop soon when the storm passed and heat leaked into their frail petite bodies. And speaking of such…

He glanced over to note a young woman with barely even a shawl standing by a group of plants, arms wrapped tightly about herself as she looked down at the greenery mournfully. Why she looked so sad about a damn plant he didn’t know. It was just a plant, flowers, and the like… there was nothing so special about a single seedling or sprout, when it could just grow back later. But he supposed, this young woman had always had an affinity for the feeling and empathy of the nature about them, far more than he himself ever would.But Nsarania could only smile as he saw a certain advisor approach, clearing his throat slightly, pushing a braid out of his face. The girl with wide eyes startled, hair on the nape of her neck standing on end as she whirled to face Aztequet.

“I ah…. Here. You really need this, with the weather.”

The generally assholish man smiled sheepishly as he draped one of the cloaks around the woman’s shoulders, who nodded mutely, pulling the wool more securely about her shoulders. He ruffled her hair at that, she herself letting out an exasperated sigh, attempting to fix her hair when he would only laugh and tilt his head to the side.

“But really, Carnelia, there is more to life than just your little plants. Like…. oh I don’t know, you? Your personal health?”

She shrugged nonchalantly at that, just smiling and tapping her chin as if in thought, before flippantly waving her hand and shaking her head with a somewhat toothy grin. Teq gave Carnelia a somewhat bothered look, before she would silently giggle, pinching his nose and wiggling her hand about, dragging his face with her as he let out a slightly pained, startled noise. But as she would take a look at him, she too would tap her foot upon the ground, a frown upon her features, looking none too happy with the aztec, just looking him up and down, tsking and shaking her head. Aztequet rolled his eyes and threw his now empty hands up into the air. Nsarania couldn’t help but feel a bit uplifted at the two dear friends’ antics- they had always been such a way as far as he knew. But, he could hear, as he walked further into the cellar to distribute the last of his own blankets, the growly “I don’t need no damn blanket to hamper my movements,” followed by a sharp yelp and a “Goddamnit Carne let go of me!”, the struggling of Aztequet loud and unmistakable as he pulled away and escaped up the stairs to lend a helping hand further up the stairs. 

As the prince finally came down upon the final group of people, he noted that his lady in waiting and dearest friend Quiesyle had indeed seemed to find her way downstairs. She was wearing…. the oddest of clothing. Close-fitting black, covered in bands and straps, draped only in a rather light half-kimono, as if ready for fighting. But her maids as he assumed they were, were sitting about her as well, and as she talked and conversed, the group swapping stories and laughing, were wearing very much the same as she was, so he saw no problem with what they were wearing, choosing only to shrug and approach, the group falling silent as he nodded his hellos, they demurely nodding back.

“I shan’t stay your speeches long miladies. I only come bearing warmth in my arms and a wish to spread it and goodwill and health. Please do partake.”

It was with that utterance that Quiesyle patted his leg in hello, and he bent down to press a friendly kiss to her forehead, draping a large blanket across her shoulders, the other women staring at the blueblood jealously as he would in turn do the same to all the women and men present right there. As he draped the last blanket and gave off the last kiss, he bowed his head a final time, leaving the conversation to slowly build up again. But he scowled, as he returned to the main room, at none other than Carnelia herself once again.

For what seemed like the fourth or fifth time that night, the woman was removing the cloaks given her. But… he couldn’t really stay mad, because she did it for good cause. Another fellow had joined them down below, trading jobs with Aztequet. The scholar known as Bhatokiv stood by the woman, sighing as she draped her own blanket about his shoulders, letting out a quiet “Thanks Nel…” as she shrugged in return, crouching by her plants once again. This was another odd fellow Nsarania could not understand- Tok was nearly blind; the man had always had terrible vision, and he generally relied on both his heavy-duty glasses and his brail books to continue learning and writing. But what he lacked in physical ability he made up for in personality and pulchritude. Bhatokiv was an incredibly nice man, always smiling melancholically it seemed, but without anything to be melancholic for. His fingers were almost never idle, but when they were he was always locked in some sort of thought anyhow. A lot of people had come to rely on him, the prince included, and he very rarely refused assisting others, helping out to the best of his ability with that sad kind smile on his face, with eyes that always looked as if they’d seen something absolutely terrible. Nsarania wasn’t even sure if Bhatokiv’s vision was even good enough that he ever ‘had’ seen anything terrible. But as he was now, the Scholar looked incredibly tired and cold, just curled up in Carnelia’s cloak without complaint for once, those thick square glasses falling off of his nose to hang around his neck by the thin chain attached to them that went around his neck for such a purpose. And once again, the nature-loving wolf woman looked utterly cold, and it made Nsarania grumpy. 

He walked over, making up his mind. If she wouldn’t accept the damn cloaks and blankets he would simply have to give her an article that she could neither refuse, throw away or give away. Oh yes… Nsarania knew what he would have to do, with this particular case.  
Carnelia startled just a bit, as she felt the warm silky fabric slip over her shoulders into place, only the faint scratchy bits inside from where medals were pinned disturbing her from the burning heat that nestled within the Prince’s beloved emerald coat. She looked at him questioningly, until finally he sighed and shook his head, scowling at her, already feeling the effects of the cold, his shirt beginning to dampen and cling to his muscled chest. 

“If you throw this one away I’ll have you hanged you understand. For the love of all that is both holy and unholy, Carnelia, just keep the damn coat and stay warm, would you?”

She smiled meekly back, before looking in thought, tightening her fists in the sleeves of the coat as if ready to tear it off and throw it back in his face. But she could see the concern in his eyes, and hesitated.

“…Will you wear it if not for your Prince…. for your friend Teq?”

She glared at him for that, and froze at the pathetic puppy eyed expression he bore. Oh that was enough out of him, she would most certainly not wear the coat for this self serving little prince. Concerned and caring or not, you didn’t just pull the puppy face on anyone when much better options were available. But for Teq…. yeah…. she would wear it for him. And so with a begrudging nod she looked the jade-blood into the eyes, her own narrowing thickly in a veiled and silent threat. He laughed awkwardly, backing off.

“Alright, alright, I won’t do it again. But thanks Carn, I really appreciate it. Teq will too, and everyone else you’ve given your blankets away too. I really mean it.”

She only shrugged, and he shrugged in return with the faintest of smiles, stepping away, his boots leaving quiet staccato notes upon the floor where he stepped. He was indeed rather cold now… there was no denying that. The cold had seeped through his shirt, to his very bones and soul, leaving him bereft of warmth, foggy misty breath escaping from his nose in chilled puffs, a faint tremor seeking into his hands. But he would continue on anyway, until he reached a small room away from the others, a single, small fire lit within, the only room illuminated by the warm golden glow a beautiful old piano, old ivories gleaming against the black as pitch wood of the string instrument. He rested himself upon it, and hoping to bring a faint bit of hope to all those around him…. he rested his knuckles against the keys, sighing softly. Just across the way, a group of black clad women and men would start falling quiet just slightly, as the familiar blueblood Quiesyle would look up to note where Nsarania was, where he sat…. and how cold he looked. Without a word to the others, she stood, walking quietly over to the Prince before sitting timidly at his side. He smiled at her quietly, even as his long fingers struck out the first few notes of an old hymn, dancing gently with barely a pressure across the blacks and the whites, an eye closing contently to the noise the music made, until he was comfortable enough with what he was doing to allow his other eye to fall closed as well. Quiesyle removed half of her blanket from her shoulder, resting herself against the man’s shoulder, where he would stiffen for just a moment, before relaxing, his song continuing on. Resting the other half of the blanket around her sweet moirail’s shoulder, Quiesyle covered them both in its warmth, enough to stave off even this monsoon in the radiating heat that their contentment let off. There wasn’t a need for words.

But, even so… Nsarania’s soft baritone voice would lull gently into the night, following soon after in accordance with his lady in waiting’s own contralto, their voices striking together in a gentle harmony that would resonate outwards to bathe the inhabitants of the castle, nay, all within earshot, of their earnest, pure song, smiles melting onto faces of the crying and of the damned, shivering slowly halting, as their decant would last for a long time, bringing peace to the hearts of many in a land currently ravaged by chaos.

 

“Will the circle be unbroken?”

“By and by…. by and by,”

“Is a better home awaiting,”

“In the sky… oh in the sky?”

“In the sky…. in… the sky…”

**Author's Note:**

> There are loved ones in the glory  
> whose dear forms you often miss.  
> When you close your earthly story,  
> Will you join them in their bliss?
> 
> Will the Circle be unbroken,  
> by and by, by and by?  
> Is a better home awaiting  
> in the sky, in the sky?
> 
> In the joyous days of childhood,  
> oft they told of wondrous love.  
> Pointed to the dying saviour,  
> now they dwell with him above.
> 
> Will the circle be unbroken,  
> by and by, by and by?  
> Is a better home awaiting  
> in the sky, in the sky?
> 
> You remember songs of heaven,  
> which you sang with childish voice.  
> Do you love the hymns they taught you?  
> Or are songs of earth your choice?
> 
> Will the circle be unbroken,  
> by and by, by and by?  
> Is a better home awaiting  
> in the sky, in the sky?
> 
> You can picture happy gatherings  
> round the fireside long ago...  
> And you think of tearful partings,  
> when they left you here below.
> 
> Will the circle be unbroken,  
> by and by, by and by?  
> Is a better home awaiting  
> in the sky, in the sky?
> 
> One by one their seats were emptied...  
> and one by one they went away....  
> Now the family is parted,  
> will it be complete one day?
> 
> Will the circle be unbroken,  
> by and by, by and by?  
> Is a better home awaiting  
> in the sky, oh in the sky...?
> 
> In the sky... in... the sky...?
> 
> I hope that this little story can make you feel a little better about your week, ate.


End file.
